When the Music's Over by Peter Robinson

Over the last couple of months I have not read a single book.  It's a shocking confession for a bibliophile, but life sometimes gets complicated with work and family obligations. You find yourself exhausted at the end of a busy day, and your brain revolts at anything more taxing than binge-watching Game of Thrones. Of course, the hiatus demolished my plan to read (and review) 52 books in 2017.  I have only achieved 2/3 of the goal (35 reviews in total), but as the great poet Meatloaf once said "Now don't be sad/ 'cause two out of three ain't bad." With my long silence, and the end of 2017, I was tempted to stop writing reviews all together. Life is busy, and I know I will have even less time to read and write reviews in 2018--why bother?  But in the end I decided that I like the tension of trying to get a posting up by Sunday afternoon, and I engage more fully and more critically with texts when I know I must share my thoughts with others. In 2018, my reviews may be more sporadic; I will not set a goal for the total number of books (but I secretly want at least 26); and I hope any readers out there will forgive my recent silence and continue to follow along.

So after two months of reading nothing but legislation, policy documents and Hansard transcripts, I turned to an old and trusted friend to ease me back into books: Peter Robinson's Inspector Banks, or rather the recently promoted Detective Superintendent Banks. Robinson is one of those mystery writers who dutifully and somewhat miraculously publishes a new book almost every year. It is a quality that I greatly admire, and the Banks books are among a handful of series that I look forward to reading every year.  So it came as a surprise to realize that When the Music's Over is actually from 2016 and not the most recent title in the series.  Somehow I had managed to miss a year. Normally that would not matter, but When the Music's Over focuses on two "ripped from the headlines" stories from the UK.  The first is the investigation of historical sexual abuse by popular television personalities and the second the grooming of underage girls by Pakistani gangs for the purposes of prostitution. Although only a year old, with the advent of the #metoo movement, some of the references and attitudes in the book already feel a little outdated.

Within the novel, Robinson weaves his story around two time frames. This technique is one of his specialties, and he always pulls it off beautifully.  While lesser writers might lose their readers with sudden shifts in time and location, Robinson seamlessly joins the narratives.  In the present, Bank's protege, DI Annie Cabot, is investigating the vicious murder of a young girl found beaten and naked on a quiet country lane. Meanwhile DSI Banks is investigating accusations that a former TV host had committed numerous sexual assaults on under-aged girls during the 1960s. Throughout he offers a richly layered exploration of the sociological contexts that these crimes occurred within, and the individual personalities of the investigators, victims and perpetrators.

Banks is less haunted by past traumas than many contemporary detectives; not for him the alcoholism and other self-destructive behaviours that plague the Rebuses and Harry Holes of the world. This brings a calmness to the novels, which makes them easy to recommend to readers who are perhaps not as hardcore in their tastes as I am. In other words, I would loan them to my elderly mother. However, in this instance the darkness of the crimes committed, the shocking levels of depravity, and the realization that it is all based on actual events makes me hesitate to recommend When the Music's Over to all audiences. But it is a must read for hardened mystery fans.

Four smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀

Heart of the City by Robert Rotenberg

Heart of the City is the fifth novel in Robert Rotenberg's mystery series set in Toronto and featuring Homicide Detective Ari Greene. I love this series, and if you aren't familiar with it, you should start with the first book, Old City Hall.  Like all good series, the characters and their relationships evolve and develop and if you start on book five, it will ruin many a plot twist.

So why do I love this series? I can sum it up in one word: authenticity. Rotenberg is a criminal lawyer, and he brings a depth of understanding of the Canadian legal system, police procedure, and court process to his novels. His books cannot be strictly described as police procedurals since often the focus is less on what has led to a suspect's arrest and more on the actual trial.  I once spoke with a Crown Attorney, who told me how a murder trial can be all consuming and leave one drained, and that is exactly what Rotenberg portrays: that tight claustrophobic world from the inside.  He reveals process and procedure and legal strategy, but in such a way that it never feels like you accidentally stumbled into a dry criminal law seminar at Osgoode Hall.

The other reason I love this series is how he captures the essence of Toronto. As a former resident, I feel transported back to the city. Every detail he offers up, from the gargoyles on Old City Hall to the decor of the local Tim Horton's, rings true. He has a wonderful eye for detail and explores every corner of the city: its diversity and dark alleys, as well as its dreams and obsessions.  And in Heart of the City, he dives into one of Toronto's biggest obsessions--real estate development.

At the end of the previous novel, Ari Greene had left the police services and moved to England for a year, but now he's back in the city and working in construction. Greene is clearly not meant to live the simple life of a labourer, for at the end of his first week on the job he discovers a dead body on the construction site. The victim is Livingston Fox, the boy wonder developer who is transforming the skyline of Toronto. Along the way Fox has accumulated a broad range of enemies, including activists who are protesting his most recent development in the iconic Kensington Market neighbourhood, fellow developers who may want to take over some of his projects, and dissatisfied clients and business associates who are suing him for various reasons. Toss in a bitter ex-girlfriend and slightly daft parents, and you have an intriguing range of potential suspects. Although Greene claims he wants to turn away from his former life, he cannot help but insert himself into the investigation.

As in all his novels, Rotenberg not only presents a satisfying murder mystery, but also delves into Toronto's larger issues: the rapid development and foreign investment that is making it unaffordable for many to live in the city; the strong NIMBYist tendencies as traditional neighbourhoods come under threat; and the rise of social media journalism and its uncomfortable relationship with traditional media.

I would highly recommend the whole series.

Four smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀

American War by Omar El Akkad

American War is the second dystopian novel, I have reviewed this year.  There just seems to be something about 2017 that makes it hard to believe our civilization has a bright future.  While Station Eleven focused on a single apocalyptic incident, the spread of a super bug that kills most of humanity, American War offers up a cornucopia of misery.  The novel envisions a near future for the United States that includes massive human displacement from global warming, the banning of fossil fuels, an American civil war, not one but two human-engineered plagues, and monstrous out-of-control war machines that randomly rain death from the skies.

I believe that speculative fiction can be most powerful when it provides a portal to view our current issues from a new perspective.  It can provide insights into the potential consequences of our actions by showing intelligent alien life or people from the future looking back on our follies. It can also question our assumptions about deeply ingrained cultural beliefs by presenting similar behaviours but in a different context, like the 1969 Star Trek episode "Let that be your last battlefield," that explored the madness of racism.  American War provides so many opportunities to reframe our awareness it can be almost dizzying to establish the main takeaway.

The timeframe of the novel focuses on 2074 to 2095, the years of the Second American Civil War.  Much of the country has already been ravaged by climate change: coastal regions are underwater, farmland is parched, and the political and economic centre of the country has moved to the midwest. Civil war is triggered when the northern states try to impose a national ban on the use of fossil fuels, and the south rises up in defiance.  The story follows the members of one family who find themselves caught in the dangerous and soul-destroying business of trying to be civilians in the midst of war.

The novel is richly layered.  We not only must contemplate the impact of our current actions on climate change, but how we are responding to the international refugee crisis. In El Akkad's future the Middle East forms a stable empire (after the fifth Arab uprising) and Americans and Europeans are fleeing their homes for safety and opportunity. Throughout, the war feels like any one of America's  proxy wars being fought currently in the Middle East or thirty years ago in Central America. Small dirty wars, orchestrated from abroad, and intending to create maximum chaos to destabilize the region.  It leaves one with a sense of how it must feel when your home becomes the battlefield for some other nation's ambition.

But it is also about the impact of war on the human psyche: how propaganda and the constant need for revenge fuels war, how tribalism springs from conflict and how children raised in a refugee camp can easily be manipulated to assert their place in the world.

In some ways, American War feels prophetic while simultaneously feeling out of date. It was published in April 2017, and although it predicts many of the fault lines broken open with the Trump administration, it also seems to miss some of the major themes. For example, by October 2017, the the only thing that feels implausible about a second American Civil War, is that it would take so long to break out. 2074 is over fifty years from now.  Also the novel is strangely silent on the issue of race. In light of the recent resurgence of blatant white supremacy, it is hard to imagine a future civil war between the north and the south where race would not be a triggering issue. Reading American War actually makes me feel nostalgic for the lovely innocence of 2016, when we still believed that the President of the United States could be trusted to denounce the actions of Neo-Nazis.

The vision El Akkad offers of the future is bleak and provides little space for the reader to imagine redemption, either personal, political or global.  Yet for those who are willing to contemplate the potential consequences of our actions and to imagine their world transformed from one of privilege to marginalization, American War will both provoke and enlighten.

Four smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀

Martin John by Anakana Schofield

I think for the first time since I started these reviews, that I have been tempted not to finish a book--just toss it aside and move on to something else. And if I had not invested so much time into it, and had allowed myself enough time to read another book and still meet my weekly deadline I probably would have. That is not to say that this is not a good, possibly even great, novel, but it drained me of thought and energy. It is utterly exhausting.

Martin John is the story of mentally ill man told largely from his own perspective.  I am no psychologist, but he seems to suffer from obsessions and compulsions, hoarding, paranoia, hallucinations, memory loss (possibly faked or possibly the result of his medications), and a disturbing range of sexual dysfunctions.  Much of the novel is told in a stream of consciousness inside Martin John's own mind. It is random, repetitive, disjointed, chaotic, and utterly exhausting. The fact that it so envelops you in his mental state is proof that the novel is powerfully written.   Indeed, Martin John is a master class in the use of perspective and voice. But I was disturbed by the lack of order--it moves through different timeframes, jumps from the perspective of Martin John to his mother to a woman he has assaulted and random observers. Each character offers up a slice of the story, but in ways that make it difficult to establish a coherent chain of events. No doubt this disorder is indicative of the protagonist's state of mind, but it just tired me out.

The descriptions of his actions and the motivations behind them are evocative without being compelling.  Any woman who has had a strange man rub up against her inappropriately in a crowded train (and let's face it that's just about every woman who has ever ridden in a crowded train) will recognize him.  It brought back strong memories of similar situations from my own past. Yet that recognition doesn't seem to be offered up with any startling insights, so it strikes me as sad, pointless and utterly exhausting.

It does have moments of wit, but they do not make up for the sheer tediousness of being in Martin John's head for so many hundreds of pages.  Sadly, I can only recommend it to someone with more sympathy and significantly more energy than I have.

Two and half out of five smileys.😊😊😶

I Hear She's a Real Bitch by Jen Agg

I honestly just don't know what to make of this book.  No matter how I think about it, I just don't get it.

Admittedly, I had never heard of Jen Agg or The Black Hoof restaurant before I started to hear all the buzz for I Hear She's a Real Bitch. I had no idea what to expect, but as a bit of a foodie, and a bit of a feminist, and a former resident of Toronto, I was intrigued. Besides, it's got a catchy title, Agg looks dead cool on the cover, and the publisher blurb said "A sharp and candid memoir from a star in the restaurant world, and an up and coming literary voice." I'm a total sucker for a good publisher blurb, even though I used to write them and should know better.

So I came to this with limited expectations, but a desire to believe that she's probably not a bitch, and I thought I was pretty open minded.  However, a few chapters in I began to wonder about it being described as a memoir.  In my mind the difference between memoir and autobiography is that the essence of memoir is the self-reflective voice.  This voice not only tells you what happened, but how the narrator feels about the experience after reflecting on it with what one hopes is honesty and self-awareness.  Autobiography is much more a linear description of events, starting in childhood and moving forward.   With these definitions in mind, I felt that I Hear She's a Real Bitch, could be much more accurately described as a celebrity autobiography.

She begins by describing her childhood, growing up in Scarborough, and focuses on stories that prove both her precociousness and her strong need to rebel, which led me to my next thoughts on the book.  In all probably she is not a bitch, but she sure comes across as a bit of a narcissist. Throughout she shows an over the top tendency to describe herself as a woman of extraordinary good taste, intelligence, artistic ability, business acumen, and vision. Not that there is anything wrong for someone to go through life with a healthy dose of self-esteem. As she puts it herself, "I had spent my whole adult life believing in my infallibility, because I had to teach myself that I was just as capable as a man, despite all the subtle and not so subtle cultural signals to the contrary."  Yet, on the other hand there is something desperate sounding in her constant need for recognition and approval. The louder someone protests their accomplishments, the less inclined I am to believe them--I call this the "Trump Inversion."

As I moved further into the book I began to wonder if she was just trying to do a hatchet job on people who have disappointed her in the past.  She seems sharply aware of every time someone betrayed her, but simply glosses over her betrayal of others--just ask her high school best friend. There also seems to be a strong undercurrent of blaming others for her failures and taking full credit for her successes. It was her first husband's fault her first bar went bankrupt, and an amazing amount of stuff was her first chef/partner's fault. Yet in the end, I must admit there is more to the book than that.

At one point I thought it might be a lovingly produced promo piece for her restaurants.  She waxes poetic about every fixture, drink, dish, bar stool and strip of wall paper in all her restaurants. It reads somewhat like one of those glossy brochures for a new condominium development.  But again, I clearly don't get it, because in the end all the talk from inside the industry just left me with a desire to stop eating out and cook at home.  There is apparently way too much status seeking in the restaurant world for me to ever fully value and appreciate the experience I would be offered.

There is a breathlessness to her prose, that is sometimes charming but other times sounds like a ten year old trying to relate the plot of all the Star Wars movies in under ten minutes.  She speaks strongly about gender inequality, but with an innocence that leaves me with the impression she is completely unaware of the numerous waves of feminist action and theory that preceded her.  There is also a surprising amount of vulgarity, and I can't quite decide whether I think that is to establish her rebel credibility or her feminist creditably.

So in the end all I can say is that I just don't get it.

Two and a half smileys out of five. 😀😀😶

A Paris Apartment by Michelle Gable

A Paris Apartment is a fictional treatment of a fascinating real life event. In 2010, a 91-year old woman died in the south of France, leaving in her estate an apartment in Paris that had not been touched for 70 years.  She had inherited it from her grandmother, but abandoned it in 1942 and never returned. Her grandmother, Marthe de Florian,  had been a Belle Epoque courtesan, and her apartment was a time capsule filled with fine furniture, books and newspapers, and most spectacularly a never-before-seen portrait of de Florian by the Italian artist Giovanni Boldini. I recall hearing about it at the time and thinking, "What a fantastic idea for a novel." Apparently Michelle Gable did as well.

Gable builds her fictional world around April Vogt, an antique furniture appraiser working for Sotheby's to catalogue the find and help prepare it for auction.  She is enduring a rough patch in her marriage, so she jumps at the chance to leave New York and work in Paris.  Upon arrival she falls in love with the Boldini portrait and becomes obsessed with finding out more about the original owner, the glamorous and mysterious Marthe de Florian. The two women's stories are interwoven, as April slowly reveals her own secrets while also reading entries from Marthe's diaries.

The novel offers rich and fascinating details of Paris in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century and the author has a talent for pacing and creating suspense. However, it struck me as somewhat formulaic.  There seems to be a current fashion in novels where the author takes some historical period or incident, overlays it with a modern narrator, throws in both a romance and a mystery, fills it with lots of historical detail, shakes vigorously, and shazam, it's a bestseller.  Gable has managed to combine all, but occasionally falls into predictable and cliched situations.  At times I was left wondering if I was reading an art history text book, a contemporary travel guide to Paris or perhaps a Harlequin romance.

In order to keep the interest level high, Gable layers multiple stories into the narrative, so we are introduced not only to April's husband, his ex-wife, her step-children and the handsome Parisian lawyer Luc, but also learn about her conflicted relationship with her own father and mother--in addition to all of Marthe's loves, friendships and rivalries.  Eventually it feels a bit too much. Like the apartment it describes, the novel is jam-packed full with the beautiful, the arcane and the trivial, all demanding the reader's attention.  A Paris Apartment might have been more successful, if it had been slightly less ambitious.

Three smileys out of five. 😀😀😀

How to Run a Government by Michael Barber

A couple of months ago, I wrote a review of What is Government Good At? by Donald Savoie. In that book, Savoie explained the disconnect in government between the creation of policy and the implementation of policy.  Michael Barber's How to Run a Government is the perfect followup book, as it looks entirely at implementation. Anyone who has been working at the policy level in the public service would have heard and possibly been confused by the latest buzz word "deliverology." Barber, or more formally Sir Michael Barber, is one of the founders of this new approach to government. From 2001 to 2005, he was the first head of the Prime Minister's delivery unit in the UK. Since then the concept of deliverology has spread around the world, including to Dalton McGuinty's Ontario and Justin Trudeau's federal government.

At its essence, this is a "how to" book (as the title would indicate). Barber sets out the process of how to apply his ideas in a government organization.  He sets out his 57 rules of delivery, that range from Rule 7: "Consult without conceding on ambition (opposition is inevitable)" to Rule 44: "There is no substitute for sustained, disciplined political leadership" or my favourite Rule 33: "Government by routine beats government by spasm (it's not even close)." Throughout he illustrates his rules with examples from projects that he has worked on from all around the world, in both developed and developing nations.

Barber's idea is really rather simple--choose a small number of priorities, set targets, focus relentlessly on achieving those targets, and build in irreversibility.  It seems fairly obvious, but it is not how government often works.  Instead the tendency is to try to be all things to all people, claiming that everything is a priority, preparing endless reviews and reports, and failing to follow through on implementation.  Most helpfully, Barber explains the elements of government culture that will resist change and how to overcome them.

This is clearly a title that will appeal to the more wonkish reader, however, it is written in a clear accessible style and provides insights into how organizations function that crosses outside the narrow world of government and public service.

Four smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀

Hunger by Roxane Gay

This is the book that everyone was talking about on my Twitter feed a few months ago.  Written by Roxane Gay, the acclaimed social critic and author of Bad Feminist, it is a excruciatingly honest personal memoir that looks at sex, gender, violence, body-image and healing.  Subtitled “A Memoir of (My) Body,” Hunger relates Gay’s struggles with her body, how society views her body, and her need to find a way to heal and love her “unruly body and unruly appetites.” Superficially the problem with her body is its size; at her heaviest Gay weighed 577 pounds at six feet, three inches. But don’t expect a predictable narrative of weight-loss and triumph, instead she offers a sophisticated critique of how women’s bodies are defined in our society, how they are weighed and judged and valued, and how they are ignored and mocked.  She says about writing this memoir, “I’ve been forced to look at my guiltiest secrets. I’ve cut myself wide open. I am exposed. That is not comfortable. That is not easy.” It is also not comfortable or easy for the reader.  We are not accustomed to confronting such raw, unfiltered intimacy.  And for me, as a woman who has been fat, and thin, and then fat again, I am shocked to see so many of my own guiltiest secrets articulated, shared and rendered slightly less powerful or shameful.

At the heart of Gay’s story is a terrifying incident that happened when she was twelve years old. She was lured to an isolated cabin by a boy she liked and was raped by him and several of his friends.  Be warned, her telling of this incident is graphic and horrifying.  Her life can be clearly bisected into the before and after of that traumatic assault, and it was after this event she started to gain weight.  Throughout the memoir she circles back to what happened, her response to it, and how it altered her relationship with the world and her own body.

Much of the memoir relates the day to day humiliations of living “in a world where the open hatred of fat people is vigorously tolerated and encouraged.”  The humiliations come from the cruel and vindictive people who attack her regularly on social media; from those who at least try to appear to be well-meaning (“People are quick to offer you statistics and information about the dangers of obesity, as if you are not only fat but also incredibly stupid…”); but some of the worst humiliations come from simply living in a world not designed to accommodate your body. She has a whole chapter on the dangers of chairs: the ones that may collapse under her weight, the ones with narrow unforgiving armrests that bruise her, and the ones she can never expect to fit into.

There is definitely a therapeutic element to her memoir, she herself says “Writing this book is a confession.” But overall, it feels more like an exorcism; a violent attempt to expose and banish the demons that have been tormenting her since that day in the woods when she was twelve years old. And there is also a tone of vindication, an insistence that her body deserves love and compassion, and that eventually we cannot continue “to delude ourselves that our bodies [are] our biggest problem.”

I am hesitant to recommend this book, because it is so raw. Yet, Hunger is also a source of liberation for women who must constantly overcome their own "unruly body and unruly appetites.” And let’s face it, isn’t that all of us.  For what is a woman’s body if not, by definition, unruly, and in constant need of sculpting, reducing, enlarging, plucking, shaving, being made up, to become in the end both hidden away and publicly displayed.  And a woman’s unruly appetites are even worse, driving humankind into a vortex of anxiety, fear and sin since the Garden of Eden.  But if you dare, read Hunger, and experience a whole new way to look at the world from inside another body.

Four smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀

Grief is the Thing with Feathers by Max Porter

This is an odd little book.  I was attracted to it because of its title. After my sister died, I spent the first year reading books about grief: mostly memoirs, but also books on the psychology and philosophy of loss and the rituals of grieving.  So like a crow that spots some bright shiny object, I wanted this book.  And as today is the anniversary of my sister's death, it seems appropriate to dip back into works on grief.

Its title page describes it as a novel, and for once I actually appreciate that clue. I would more likely think of it as a prose poem or a traditional trickster tale or even a meditation on a dream about death. I could even imagine it being performed as a play. It challenges our traditional understanding of genre as well as our understanding of grief.

The story is told in three voices: the dad, the crow and the boys (although at times each boy attains his own individual voice). The father's wife has died suddenly, and he must deal with his own bereavement, single parenthood and meeting his publisher's deadline for his academic study on Ted Hughes' Crow. Meanwhile the two brothers are left, in many ways, on their own to deal with their bewilderment and grief, sometimes acting out their pain with the unique savagery of angry children. Amid this chaos arrives Crow: mythic, primal, trickstering, threatening, protecting, and meddling.

The story takes us from shortly after the wife's death and far into the future when the boys are grown and can reflect back on the years of bereavement and can claim "...something more or less healthy happened. We miss our Mum, we love our Dad, we wave at crows.  It's not that weird." Along the way there is humour, violence, myths to unfold, dark visceral moments, and much earthy Crow-iness.

I am at a loss on how to rate this book.  It was not to my taste, but I recognize the beauty of its language, the brief heart-breaking insights into human nature, and its ultimately reassuring message on our capacity to heal.

Three smileys out of five. 😀😀😀

The Only Child by Andrew Pyper

I am not a fan of horror fiction, except for an extended flirtation with Stephen King when I was in high school.  I do, however, give a pass to Andrew Pyper, because his work usually references literature and he is very skilled at dancing that fine line that leaves me wondering if there are in fact supernatural events happening or we have a highly unreliable narrator. As Pyper wrote in one of his earlier novels, The Killing Circle, "After all, what is sanity other than guarding the border between the fiction and non-fiction sections?" With Pyper, you can never be entirely sure which section of the bookstore you are visiting.

The Only Child opens with the protagonist, Lily Dominick, revealing that when she was six years old her mother was killed by a bear when they were living in a remote cabin in Alaska.  Lily mysteriously escaped, but carries with her troubling memories that do not match the official version of events. Now grown-up and a forensic psychiatrist, Lily understands how unreliable a child's memory of traumatic events may be, but is still unable to shake off the belief that her mother was killed not by a bear, but by a monster; and that Lily was rescued by a magical white horse.

She is the assistant director at a maximum security forensic psychology institute, and it is her job to assess the mental state of violent criminals. One morning she is presented with Michael, a patient who claims he committed a random and unusual act of violence just to meet Lily. He tells her that he is over 200 years old, he is not human, and he knew her mother and can tell her the secrets of her own past. In spite of her training and scepticism, Lily finds herself swept along in a series of increasingly dangerous and violent situations, as she pursues and is pursued by this mysterious creature, who seems more monster than man.

There is an element of international espionage to the tale as Lily soon encounters dangerous assassins who are also trying to find Michael, and the characters travel from New York, to various European cities, and the vast frigid wilderness of Alaska.  The tale also travels through time exploring events over the past two centuries and visiting some of the earliest horror writers in English literature: Mary Shelley, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Bram Stoker. Yet in spite of the diverse range of locations, characters, and timelines, Pyper manages to maintain the flow of the story jumping effortlessly through time and space.

It is a novel I read quickly in part to fully appreciate the flurry of motion and incident, but also to prevent myself from dwelling too long on the more horrific incidents. As I said, it is not my preferred genre.  However, if it is your genre or you just want to try something new, I would recommend the Only Child.  Pyper tells his tale with skill, maintaining the suspense and tension between the "fiction and non-fiction sections," while adding frequent plot twists. It is a true page-turner.

Three and a half smileys out of five. 😀😀😀😶

The Reason You Walk by Wab Kinew

I first became aware of Wab Kinew when I saw the CBC TV series, The Eighth Fire.  As the host of this series on the contemporary issues of Indigenous people in Canada, Kinew brought a depth of personal experience, an urban perspective and enormous openness and charisma to our national discussion on reconciliation. The same qualities infuse his memoir, The Reason You Walk.

This memoir is rich and thoughtful.  It is not only a reflection on Kinew's life, but also explores his relationship with his father, a residential school survivor.  Much of the memoir focuses on his father's last year of life, when it was clear that he was terminally ill, and Kinew took time off work to be with his dying father.  Throughout Kinew tells the stories that brought him, his father and his family to this point.  Each vignette is vividly told, giving the reader the impression of witnessing these moments, and each ties into the broader themes of growth, understanding, family and reconciliation.

Kinew does not avoid the difficult issues, such as the impact of residential schools, the suicide crisis among young indigenous people, and conflicts over land use, but he brings to the discussion a vision of a future where we can move beyond the harms of the past, and build a better world, for both Indigenous and non-Indigenous Canadians.  Now, when reconciliation is arguably the biggest challenge our nation faces, he brings a calm voice, a deep understanding of both Indigenous and settler culture, and an expansiveness of spirit to the debate.

As Kinew describes it: "Reconciliation is action. Reconciliation is not something realized on a grand level, something that happens when a prime minister and a national chief shake hands.  It takes place at a much more individual level. Reconciliation is realized when two people come together and understand that what they share unites them and that what is different about them needs to be respected."

I would recommend this book to anyone who is seeking a deeper understanding of the need for reconciliation and anyone who wishes to understand the importance of culture and ceremony in achieving it.

Four smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀

Norwegian by Night by Derek B. Miller

Norwegian by Night was recommended to me by a friend who rarely gets it wrong.  "It's a murder mystery," she told me, "but really it isn't." I was sufficiently intrigued to find out for myself. Yes, there is a murder, a clever female police officer, and violent drug dealing gangs, but the novel is not really about the murder. Instead it is an extended exploration on remembrance, regret and redemption.

Sheldon Horowitz is an 82 year old American, who has recently moved to Norway to live with his granddaughter after his wife passes away.  He is a bit of a curmudgeon in the tradition of too many elderly male characters in contemporary fiction. His family thinks he is suffering from dementia, but he strenuously disagrees, instead he believes "...his memories were just becoming more vivid with age. Time was folding in a new way.  Without a future, the mind turned back in on itself. That's not dementia. One might even say it's the only rational response to the inevitable." Horowitz is a veteran of the Korean War, and he might have been a highly decorated sniper or possibly a filing clerk, but either way, he still believes Korean agents are out to kill him.  Amid all this uncertainty, he suddenly finds himself rescuing a young boy from a violent domestic situation and going into hiding with the child in an unfamiliar country.

When I read the first few chapters, it reminded me of A Man Called Ove: a grumpy older man, in a Nordic country, finds himself reluctantly spending time with a child who forces him to confront his past and reevaluate his life. In both cases, the author uses witty and ironic prose and the protagonists find themselves in absurd situations. But that is where the similarities end. Norwegian by Night is a much darker tome. The ghosts that haunt Sheldon are many, and he must not only grapple with his own past and guilt but also with his rage at God. Did I mention he's Jewish? As his granddaughter tries to explain it to the Norwegian policewoman, "...he's Jewish. He's not your normal whacko. His name is Sheldon Horowitz. Can't you hear it? It's like his whole history is built right into his name."

Because the child does not speak English and is rendered mute by trauma, Sheldon is given ample room to deliver long philosophical monologues. As the author puts it "Sheldon continues speaking for both of them. Silence is not a practiced skill of his."

Sheldon's ruminations stretch far and wide, but if a single theme merges, it is the moral justifications for war and the impact combat has on soldiers. Indeed war overshadows everything from his anger at being too young to fight in World War II and avenge the Holocaust to his experiences in Korea and what he imagines his own son's experiences were in Vietnam. He argues morality, reflects on the Bible and seeks out eternal truths. He plunges deeply into the meaning of love, sacrifice, revenge and redemption. Yet throughout it all the author maintains an urgent pace, as the police, Sheldon's family, and the murderous criminals all race to be the first to find Sheldon and the boy.

If you pick this up expecting a light Norwegian murder mystery, you may be disappointed. But if you are like me and are attracted to the mystery genre because, at its best, it illuminates the eternal puzzle of good and evil, Norwegian by Night is highly recommended.

Four smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀

Should We Change How We Vote? Edited by Andrew Potter, Daniel Weinstock, and Peter Loewen

I first became convinced that our electoral system was fatally flawed on the morning of October 26, 1993. I woke up post-election to discover that the Bloc Québécois was the official opposition even though it had less than 14% of the popular vote and had only run candidates in a single province, while the Progressive Conservative Party was reduced to two elected MPs in spite of winning over 16% of the popular vote. I decided, then and there, that a system that so distorts the public will and rewards parties focused on narrow regional interests above parties that seek a national mandate was not very "democratic" as I envisioned democracy at the time.  

That belief has been reinforced by living in PEI, where there are the two dominant parties and we often end up with a mega-majority in the legislature based on a very small variation in the popular vote, and where district races can be so close that we currently have a cabinet minister who was elected by coin-toss.  Clearly other Islanders share my concerns, as the majority who voted in a recent plebiscite favoured a proportional representative system.  The current government (which was elected with only 40.83% of the popular vote) has chosen not to honour the plebiscite.

I should also disclose that I work for the Green Party legislative office in PEI, and the party's position is in favour of eliminating first-past-the-post. Therefore I must preface my review with the following disclaimer: I have a long established position on this question and my ability to honourably continue my current employment is somewhat contingent on me maintaining that position.  But enough about me....

Should We Change How We Vote? is a collection of papers from two conferences held in the fall of 2016: one in Ottawa on October 28 and the other in Montreal on November 1. The dates are important as the papers were written when Justin Trudeau had begun consultations on his intention to act on his election promise that the 2015 election would be the last one to be run on first-past-the-post.  Since then, Trudeau has indicated that his government won't be changing the electoral system, so the urgency of the discussion has dissipated. 

Although written almost entirely by academics, the articles are, for the most part, quite accessible to a non-academic reader.  Yet, you still occasionally find yourself slogging through sentences like this: "The kind of epistemically fine-tuned vote that systems of ranked ballots allow must of course be calibrated to the epistemic carrying capacity of the electorate." I'm not entirely sure what is being said, but I feel vaguely insulted as a voter.

The volume covers a range of topics from an overview of past electoral reform attempts in Canada to the various values that must be considered in any decision, how change would impact the function and motivation of parties, the potential impact on underrepresented groups such as women, Indigenous people and visible minorities, and what is a legitimate process to implement change.

Each contributor brings his or her own perspective to the discussion, but it seemed that there was an overall preference for maintaining the status quo.  I wonder if this preference was in anyway reinforced by the fact that the federal government, at the time, seemed committed to change.  In some of the essays one could almost sense anxiety around the possibility of Canada moving to a more proportional system. Many of the contributors seemed to take the position that the problems with our current system are simply not severe enough to risk the potential unintended consequences of change.

I found some of the arguments less than inspirational and even somewhat circular.  For example, in the paper "Voter Choice and Accountability," Elizabeth Goodyear-Grant argues that the "mandate view on representation suggests that ballots cast for parties provide affirmation of their electoral platform as legislative blueprints for governing," (p.58) and the necessary post-election coalition bargaining makes it difficult for voters to know in advance which elements of a platform might be up for barter. Although this is quite true, she fails to provide an argument on why two or more parties representing the majority of the voters working together to support policy they can both agree on has a less legitimate mandate than a single party with under 40% of the popular vote imposing its platform on the majority who did not vote for it. For example I do not believe, based on his 39.47% popular vote, Trudeau had a clear mandate to impose a new electoral system. However, if he worked with and was supported by other parties such as the NDP, Greens etc,  who combined would represent the majority of voters that carries greater legitimacy.

I also discovered to my surprise that many contributors cited features of our current system as advantages, that I actually consider disadvantages.  For example, one of the primary advantages cited for first-past-the-post is its stability and efficiency.  Admittedly minority and coalition governments can be somewhat unruly, but I believe that true democracy should be a little a messy.  It should involve vigorous debate, collaboration and compromise. With the current granting of false-majorities to parties that obtain approximately 40% of the vote, we have created a system where important decisions are being made at the Cabinet table in secrecy, facile speaking points are then drafted to justify the decision and government ministers avoid any substantive debate on the issue because they know in the end their legislative majority will rule the day.  Within a less "stable" system, governing parties would need to work more closely with other parties in developing policies, justify their decisions with rational debate and evidence, and show greater respect and decorum towards opposing members. What is the value of stability if it comes at the price of omnibus bills, time allocations and other strong-arm tactics used to limit debate?

Although I did not agree with all the opinions expressed, every single paper provided excellent insights into the question and greatly deepened my understanding of the issues and the arguments to made on both sides. Although clearly not recommended for all, I believe the policy wonks in my circle would find this an invaluable resource, especially here on PEI where we are still at an impasse on how to move forward from last year's plebiscite.

Three and a half smileys out of five. 😀😀😀😶

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

I'll admit it was a mistake to start reading Station Eleven just before bed--I found myself awake hours later, promising I would go straight to bed after a few more pages. Eventually exhaustion won out, but I was back at it the next morning, even before my first coffee finished brewing. This is an extraordinary novel: rich, beautiful, suspenseful and thought-provoking. Imagine, if you can, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead combined with The Road and just a pinch or two of Stephen King's The Stand tossed in for flavour.

Mandel starts with a fairly typical premise: almost all of humanity is wiped out by a super-flu, and the few ragged survivors must wander a desolate and dangerous planet trying to reestablish functioning and safe communities. Yet from this fairly predictable premise, she takes the post-apocalyptic-wasteland genre to an entirely new level.

The novel begins on a snowy night in Toronto: Arthur Leander, a famous actor, dies of a heart attack on stage while performing King Lear's mad-scene on the heath.  Leander is the anchor and focal point of the novel, even though he dies of non-Apocalyptic causes just before the pandemic hits.  The novel goes backward and forward in time, showing Leander's early life, rise to fame, his many failed marriages and following the key characters in his life into their bleak post-pandemic future.

Although she never minimizes the horror of the situation, Mandel avoids portraying the more gruesome elements of survival. Much of her timeline focuses on events before the pandemic or 15 to 20 years after. Although there are many references to the terrible violent events of the first year, she does not provide details.

Station Eleven not only examines the mechanics of survival and how the breakdown of society strips bare humanity's pretence of civilization, but also considers the meaning of art in a broken society, how objects can keep us connected to each other, and how we can still be moved by beauty even when surrounded by death.  Much of the novel is set in Year 20 and follows "The Travelling Symphony": a collection of musicians and actors who traverse from town to town performing classical music and Shakespeare's plays (thus my earlier R&G are Dead reference). Their motto is "Because survival is insufficient."

Mandel captures the complexity of her characters with wisdom and compassion, but never overlooks their weaknesses. Every character feels real and authentic, and by the end of the novel they populated my inner landscape like old and dear friends. And just as the characters feel real, the world she plunges them into is both plausible and terrifying. Throughout the novel every detail rings pitch perfect, from the description of a character walking through Allan Gardens on a snowy night to the internal rivalries of the musicians in the Symphony.

I would even recommend Station Eleven to those who don't usually enjoy dystopian fiction as it is a powerful affirmation of the redemptive powers of art and human connection and a deeply satisfying novel.

Five smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀😀

Chasing Slow by Erin Loechner

Normally I can explain how I acquired a particular title, but I must confess I am not entirely sure why I bought this book.  It has been sitting on my Kindle for a few months now, and I can't remember if I read a review or if it was recommended to me by Amazon's analytics. Needless to say, it was an impulse purchase. I love books on decluttering, simplifying, finding calm in a wired world, slowing down and living in the moment.  Last year, when I finally tackled Marie Kondo's The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up, I not only spent several months gathering and touching all my possessions, training my perfectly folded t-shirts to stand up straight, and ridding myself of vast quantities of unneeded stuff, I even divested myself of a car, a job, and (to my eternal shame) a couple of old friends that no longer "sparked joy." In other words, I come to self-help books with high expectations, and if you're not able to create "magic," I may be disappointed.

Written by "viral sensation and HGTV.com star" Erin Loechner, Chasing Slow promises to "refresh your perspective, renew your priorities and shift your focus to the journey that matters most." It sorta sounds a bit magical, and her opening sentence is a real jaw-dropper, 'I married a man with an expiration date. "Thirty," the doctor had said. "He might live to be thirty."'  Her husband Ken has an inoperable brain tumour, and that frightening fact hangs over her story.

The book is organized into 34 short chapters, with each chapter beginning with an inspirational quote, a couple of personal stories, a few bolded quotes from her own text, a random list, possibly a recipe, a math lesson (Math Lesson 001 // Trying + Failing = Learning) or a photograph.  The chapters do follow themes, but the personal stories seem to jump around, and I, for one, often felt lost on what I was supposed to take away from each chapter--even when guided by a Math Lesson.

I also spent a long time trying to figure out the genre. Is it a memoir, a self-help book, spiritual meditation, or a lifestyle magazine? Eventually I realized that it is really more like a blog, and a blog written by an online lifestyle stylist. I tried to ignore the inherent contradiction between what she does for a living and her stated purpose of turning away from society's dependence on material things and finding a deeper meaning in life.

I also quickly ascertained that she is a Christian, so many of her insights are faith-based.  For example, at one point she writes: "When we strip away every circumstantial identity-writer, mother, wife-we are left with the only identity that can never be in question: I am a woman of God." I rejoice for her faith, but it provides little guidance for those of us who constantly question the very existence of God. And perhaps more importantly, do we really want to "strip away every circumstantial identity" or should we try to more closely align those identities with our core needs, beliefs and values?

Overall, it can be an interesting read, even if it feels overstuffed with feel-good aphorisms, an oddly materialist form of spirituality, and more lifestyle tips than I was prepared to contemplate. For example, at the end of the book she provides some resources including a From A to Z-A Few Easy Changes to Slow Your Life, which includes suggestions such as Coconut Oil; Hydration; Knitting, or Something; Lavender; and Mason Jars.

Two and half out of five smileys.😊😊😶

The Handover by Elaine Dewar

The subtitle of The Handover provides a much better synopsis of the book than I can: How Bigwigs and Bureaucrats Transferred Canada's Best Publisher and the Best Part of Our Literary Heritage to a Foreign Multinational. The publisher she is referring to is, of course, the legendary McClelland & Stewart (M&S), publisher of such literary heavy-weights as Margaret Atwood, Leonard Cohen, Michael Ondaatje, Alice Munro, Rohinton Mistry, Anne Michaels, and so many other renowned Canadian authors.

If you have taken an active interest in Canadian publishing you probably already know the story of how real estate developer, Avie Bennett, rescued M&S from potential bankruptcy in the mid-1980s, privately financed and ran it for fifteen years, and then donated 75% of the company to the University of Toronto, selling the remaining 25% to international publisher Random House. However the story of the backroom deals, the amounts of money involved and how M&S eventually fell under the complete control of Random House, has been hidden in secrecy until now.

I worked on contract as Senior Publicist for M&S for one tumultuous year in the mid-2000s. It was just after Doug Pepper replaced Doug Gibson as President and Publisher, and during my time there the office was moved from their long established location on University Avenue in Toronto and the marketing and publicity functions were assumed by Random House staff.  I remember the day Doug Pepper called the publicity team into his office to inform us that we were about to become employees of Random House and report to their Vice-President of Marketing. So for me The Handover triggered strong memories, reminding me of former industry colleagues, and finally explaining many of the backroom machinations that we on the front-lines had speculated and gossiped about but never really understood.

The Handover can be read on many different levels. At its core it is a detective story on how one investigative journalist tried to track down the truth about the handover of M&S after being alerted by an anonymous source that the deal was not all it had appeared to be.  But it also provides a sweeping overview of Canadian publishing from the late 1980s to the present: covering such pivotal events as Indigo's takeover of Chapters, the implementation of the Pegasus warehouse, the destabilizing impacts of Costco, Amazon and Walmart, and the Stoddart bankruptcy.  On a third level it is an exploration of Canada's protectionist cultural policies and how they can be side-stepped and whether they are still serving a function.

During one interview with the author, Avie Bennett warned, "This is a book no one will read. I say [that] as a publisher."  Bennett did have a point; this story will fascinate publishing and media insiders, but probably not achieve mass popularity.  However, it is perhaps the perfect book for me, with my publishing background, policy wonk tendencies, and love of a good mystery. I was even fascinated by how her many Freedom of Information requests were handled, as I was at one time a provincial FOIPP coordinator.  The Handover is clearly not for everyone, but still highly recommended.

Four smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀

The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah

The Nightingale was another book club selection. Set in occupied France, it tells the story of two sisters trying to survive and stay true to their beliefs.  One sister, Vianne, is conventional, married with a child, whose husband has gone to war.  The other sister, Isabelle, is highly unconventional. Even before the war, her approach to life was defiant and impulsive.  The two sisters have not been close since their mother died when they were children, and the war both pushes them together and tears them apart, as they struggle to find a common understanding about what can be compromised to survive and protect their loved ones.

The Nightingale brings to the fore the experiences of women during the occupation.  With most men in the army, the small communities in the countryside are populated mostly with women and children, the old and infirm, and the occupying army. The author makes the reader acutely aware of their vulnerability, often focusing on small domestic details like the daily struggle to obtain scant food rations.  But the novel also tries to capture the broad sweeping history of those years, from the chaotic exodus of Paris at the start of the occupation to the Resistance's work rescuing downed Allied pilots trapped behind enemy lines.

The author is ambitious, and her ambition may outstrip her abilities.  There is an element of skimming the surface in her writing. The characters fall into predictable stereotypes, and the plotting is both clunky and wildly implausible at times. The story wobbles uncertainly between trying to be a serious war novel and an overblown historical romance.  And although she does describe events in great detail, her fictional world never feels truly authentic. I wanted to engage more fully, but I was never able to achieve the requisite suspension of disbelief.

It reminded me of a lesser version of Irène Némirovsky's Suite française, covering many of the same incidents and themes. Of course, Némirovsky was living through the occupation as she wrote her work, and did not survive the war to finish it, so it is perhaps an unfair comparison.  

Upon finishing The Nightingale, I did not feel inspired to read other novels by Hannah, instead I felt a longing to re-read Suite française.

Three smileys out of five. 😀😀😀

What I Learned about Politics by Graham Steele

This is another excellent title that will primarily interest those who are passionate about politics. It was recommended to me by my boss, and as I am nothing if not a consummate suck-up, I immediately picked up a copy and read it. Turns out my boss makes great recommendations*

What I Learned about Politics is also a good companion volume to last week's What is Government Good At? While Donald Savoie looked at the dysfunctions of our democracy from an academic perspective, Graham Steele explores similar territory through the lens of an elected Nova Scotia MLA who served in opposition, the government backbench and Cabinet.

This is the ultimate insider's view of provincial politics, told with honesty, cynicism, and a surprising amount of self-awareness and good cheer.  He tells the story of his own political education from his early years as a backroom researcher for the NDP to the spectacular defeat of Darrel Dexter's NDP government in 2013. He details how he won his first nomination and election in Halifax Fairview; the role of the MLA; the nature of constituency work; the electoral victory in 2009 that brought the NDP to power; his work as a cabinet minister; his dramatic resignation from cabinet and subsequent reappointment; and his decision to leave politics.

For anyone even slightly interested in the day-to-day reality of an elected official, this book will be fascinating, covering both the rewards and frustrations of his role. Throughout he explains the rules of the game and why things are so difficult to change.

Best of all, Steele doesn't pull his punches, so I compiled a few of my favourite Steeleisms to share.

On the legislature: I have never worked in a place as thoroughly dysfunctional as the Nova Scotia legislature. Fifty-one grown-ups act in ways that, if repeated in their private lives, would end their personal relationships, and if repeated in other workplaces, would get them fired.

On platforms: Platforms are marketing documents, designed strictly to win votes. They are not serious attempts to come to grips with policy, nor are they financially realistic.

On reform: The parties manufacture differences for election purposes, then once they become government, they face the same challenges, options, and constraints as the last government, which leads to remarkably similar decisions.

On the dangers of working in politics: Being in politics makes you dumber, and the longer you're in politics, the dumber you get.  That's because you learn habits of behaviour and speech that serve political purposes but are at odds with the way normal people think and talk.

This sampling of quotes may leave you with an impression that Steele's outlook is bleak, but that is not true. If anything, he brings back an awareness of the important individual human element that is a powerful counterpoint to the grinding mechanism of political process.  But even with well-meaning and sincere leaders, we cannot expect the process to be self-correcting.  "It is not our politicians who will lead the change. The only person who can change our politics is the engaged citizen."

So if you are interested in being that engaged citizen who will demand better from the people who govern us, a good way to start would be reading What I Learned About Politics.  It will enlighten, enrage and engage.

Four smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀

*Did you note the seamless double suck-up there, just in case he's reading?

What is Government Good At? by Donald J. Savoie

I picked this up shortly after it was published in 2015, but never managed to finish it.  I started eagerly, but then reached a point where my day-to-day frustrations working in government were being described so accurately and framed as global problems in the current practice of governing, that I got discouraged and eventually gave up: first the book and then the job.

However, I recently noted that the author has published a new title, Looking for Bootstraps: Economic Development in the Maritimes, which looks really interesting. But I have this little rule...I am not allowed to get a new book, if I have not yet finished an earlier book by the same author that is in my collection.  So I went back to What is Government Good At?: A Canadian Answer with new determination and the fresh perspective of someone who now works in an opposition office. And I am glad I did.

In some ways What is Government Good At? provides a history of the rise and fall of public confidence in government from the post-World War II period when the public believed that government could solve all the big problems, to today when there is widespread public disdain for the government's ability to provide public services: a disdain that is often encouraged by our own politicians. Throughout Savoie points out both the social and political evolution over the past seventy years and its impact on how we are governed.  Although he primarily focuses on the federal government, his work applies equally well to provincial governments.

One of the Savoie's central premises is that government functions on two levels: above the fault line and below the fault line.  Power resides above the fault line, and the main goals there are to generate new policy, manage the blame game, avoid risk, respond to the priorities of the Prime Minister, keep ministers on message, and interpret it all through the lens of how to win the next election. Below the fault line is the day-to-day operations of government: the administration and implementation of policy. These days there seems to be a growing disconnect between those above and those below the fault line. Those above do not have the time--and do not consider it their job-- to engage in implementation, yet are unable or unwilling to delegate decision-making power below the fault-line. This disconnect then creates a situation where "public servants below the line will continue to attend meetings, exchange documents, and prepare briefing notes in the hope that some day someone above the line takes an interest." In that sentence, Savoie summed up about 57% of my frustration with my former job.

Unfortunately, it also creates a "a disbelief culture below the fault line--the view that no reform from above will stick or work. Thus, when reforms are announced, public servants downstairs simply go through the motions of implementation, convinced that this is just another passing fad that will soon die out, and things will shortly get back to normal. The instinct is to batten down the hatches and wait out the passing storm, knowing that those above the fault line and the authors of the latest reform efforts will soon be pursuing other priorities."

Savoie points out many of the factors that have led to this situation, including: the breakdown of social cohesion as communities have abandoned organized religion; the increased influence of the courts in the Charter era; the power of lobbyists; the centralization of power in the Prime Minister/Premier's office; the tendency of managers in government to manage up and ignore what is happening below them; the natural bureaucratic impulse to accumulate more staff and larger budgets; the 24 hour news cycle; the development of the never-ending election cycle; politicians who serve their party ahead of their constituents; and apathy and disengagement among the electorate.

Throughout Savoie provides provocative insights into why so many people, both inside and outside of government, are frustrated by the status quo, and much of it rings true to my own experience working within government.  If you have even a passing interest in learning more about how we ended up with the systems we have, and how some changes can be made to improve governance, this would be an excellent starting point.

Four and a half smileys out of five. 😀😀😀😀😶

The Thirst by Jo Nesbo

I must confess a certain ambivalence to Jo Nesbo's Harry Hole series that goes well beyond the rather naughty associations encouraged by the protagonist's name or the unjustified impression he creates that Norway is a country overwhelmed with mass murder and mayhem.

I first discovered Nesbo around ten years ago when two titles, The Redbreast and The Devil's Star, were first translated into English.  I was captivated by his intricate plotting, well-developed characters, astute psychological insights, plausible red herrings and wonderful turn of phrase.  There was a depth and understanding that made Nesbo my second favourite author of police procedurals, after Ian Rankin. So, whenever a new Nesbo is released in English, I immediately clear my schedule.

The most recently released title is The Thirst, the eleventh book in the series.  Harry has given up police work to teach at the Police College.  He is sober, happily married, and feeling for the first time contentment and happiness.  What could possibly go wrong? Maybe a new serial killer stalking the streets of Oslo.  The killer seems to be using the dating website Tinder and kills his victims using prosthetic iron teeth and then drinking their blood.  Harry is called in to help, initially refusing to cooperate, but then changing his mind when certain elements of the crimes seem familiar to him.  It may turn out that this is not a new killer, but one that Harry has crossed paths with in the past, one who bested Harry, the only one who got away.

The novel lives up to all I have come to expect from Nesbo: a plot with lots of twists and turns, nuanced characters with secrets in their past which may or may not relate to the killer, red herrings a plenty, generous servings of suspense, and a fluid prose style that carries you along as if you were rafting down a swift moving river.

Unfortunately, I find the novel marred by the source of my ambivalence: the violence.  I know, I know, the whole point of murder mysteries is to explore how individuals and societies respond to violence.  It is why I enjoy the genre so much.  But in recent years, the violence seems to be escalating, as if there is a competition to see how many new and depraved ways a serial killer can torture, maim or dispatch his (it usually is a his) victims.  There is also a deep vein of misogyny as the victims are usually women and the killers are often sexually motivated. I fear that Nesbo has fallen into the trap of trying to crank up the gore with each outing.

So here I sit, ambivalent: a little uncomfortable with my own guilty pleasure, unwilling to fully endorse one of my favourite authors, but still unable to turn away from the most recent "Harry Hole."

Four smileys out of five (but only if you don't object to a bit of sadism): 😀😀😀😀

House of Four by Barbara Nadel

The House of Four is the 19th title in Barbara Nadel's Inspector Ikmen mystery series. The novels are set in Istanbul, and often explore the history and culture of the city. I originally started reading them many years ago, when I was planning a holiday to Turkey. The vacation didn't pan out, but I continue to enjoy the books.

The series star is Inspector Cetin Ikman, a middle-aged Muslim police officer with secular tendencies. He is a man who understands the moral uncertain of the modern world, who is as devoted to his several pack-a-day smoking habit and his raki, as he is to his devout wife and large family. He works closely with Inspector Mehmet Suleyman, who was his young protege in the first book, but is now equal in rank and approaching middle-age himself. Unlike Ikman, whose background is humble, Suleyman comes from an old Ottoman family; he is related to Princes and retains many of the social mannerisms and attitudes of Turkey's former Imperial rulers.

As The House of Four opens, a young man who works in a carpet shop is stabbed in the Grand Bazaar, and Suleyman must close off the entire Bazaar.  Meanwhile Ikman has been called to the Asian side of the city to investigate the murder of an elderly woman in her nineties. She and her three older brothers live in a decrepit old Ottoman mansion, called locally the Devil's House.  It has been divided into four apartments, and the siblings have not seen or spoken to each other for decades. When the police try to notify her brothers of her death, they discover that all four siblings have been murdered in exactly the same way--stabbed through the heart.

Nadel is masterful at leading the reader through the complexities of these two plots, while still layering in fascinating insights into Turkey's rich past and complex contemporary situation. Throughout we learn about Germany's role fighting with the Ottomans during World War One, the precarious situation of Greeks living in Turkey, an almost forgotten Ottoman written script, and the secrets of magicians and alchemists.

Indeed, one of the most intriguing elements of Nadel's fiction is its ability to stay abreast with current affairs in Istanbul.  Previous books have included the Gezi Park protests, young men trying to join ISIS, and the rise of the AK Party.

If you like a good murder mystery or are dreaming of a vacation to the Golden City on the Bosporus or both, I would highly recommend this series.

Four smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman

This is another book club title, but also the perfect antidote to six weeks of reading legislation and policy reviews. It is light, witty, and heartwarming.

Set in Sweden, it is, unsurprisingly, the story of a man called Ove.  What type of man is Ove? He is "the kind of man who points at people he doesn't like the look of, as if they were burglars and his forefinger a policeman's torch." He "is the sort of man who checks the status of all things by giving them a good kick." He is a man who "does things the way they're supposed to be done." He is a man who thinks that these days "...no one takes responsibility. Now it's just computers and consultants and council bigwigs going to strip clubs and selling apartment leases under the table. Tax havens and share portfolios. No one wants to work." In other words, Ove is a curmudgeon.

As the novel opens, Ove has just been laid off after working for the same company for over thirty years. He is fifty-nine years old and he realizes that the rules for success have changed and his life has not turned out the way he expected. He has a plan on how he can put things right, but first he must figure out how to get his neighbours to stop bothering him.  Whether it is the couple who just moved in across the way, who can't seem to reverse a car with a trailer without destroying Ove's letter box; or another neighbour who doesn't know how to bleed her own radiators; or the "Blond Weed" and her mutt that is always "pissing on the paving stones outside Ove's house," they are relentlessly distracting.  Poor Ove just wants to be left alone.

Of course, one assumes that when a protagonist starts out so grumpy, socially inept, and just plain crusty, the novel won't end until the readers get a glimpse of his hidden depths and secret heart of gold. Written with wit, the author has a masterful way of sketching characters, building absurd metaphors, and finding the humour in everyday social interactions. If you like to see the good in everyone, and are unafraid of a little sentimentality, this a cheerful book that will leave you smiling and feeling just a little bit more friendly towards the world.

Three and a half smileys out of five. 😀😀😀😶

Taking a short break

I will be taking the next seven weeks off from reading and reviewing books, as I focus on a busy time at work.  I expect to be back the first week of June.

Fifteen Dogs by André Alexis

This is another book club title and also this year's winner of CBC's Canada Reads competition.  In the interest of full disclosure, I must confess that I'm not terribly keen on dogs.  I know, I know. In the minds of many that makes me a monster without a soul. But let me assure you, I do have a soul: an aloof, fastidious, and somewhat languid feline soul. Fifteen Dogs is told from the perspective of self-aware and talking dogs, so forgive me if I arch my back and hiss just a tiny bit.

One day, the gods Apollo and Hermes are feeling bored and make a wager over whether animals would be "even more unhappy than humans are, if they had human intelligence." So they enter a vet clinic late at night and grant 15 dogs human intelligence.  The novel then explores how the dogs respond to this gift/ curse.

Some are frightened by these alien powers and wish to continuing living like authentic dogs, while others are delighted and want to embrace language and the new understanding that it brings.  This naturally leads to conflict, for as one traditionalist puts it: "a pack needed unity, and unity meant that all understood the world in the same way or, if not the world, the rules, at least."

Alexis endows his canine protagonists with rich personalities that are built on our expectations of particular breeds, but layered with individuality and psychological insight. So we may not be surprised that a Neapolitan Mastiff wants to lead or two young Labrador Retrievers are full of energy and conviction, but the characters are not limited to those expected roles.

The construct provides a broad canvas to explore many philosophical issues, such as the nature of happiness and love; the roles of instinct and reason in our behaviour; the basis of our religious and social structures; and the uses of violence. There is also much humour to be found in perceiving human behaviour from the perspective of the dogs for who knows us better than our long-time companions and presumptive best-friends. Spoiler alert: they may not actually love us as unconditional as we believe.

Sadly, it did not leave me with a newfound appreciation of our canine friends.  Indeed it reinforced some of my worst prejudices against dogs: that they are prone to sudden acts of aggression, willing to hump anything, and inclined to eat each others' feces (seriously, guys, that's just gross).

Rich in philosophy, humour, and fantastic characterizations--who knew beagles could be so sneaky--the story moves forward rapidly, and at times feels like a mash-up of Lord of the Flies and Watership Down.  Recommended for both dog-lovers and the rest of us.

Four smileys out of five: 😀😀😀😀